Dealing with Númenóreans
by AzureSkye23
Summary: Part of the Bond Between Brothers universe. Sauron and the leaders of the Free Peoples have the beginnings of a plan to deal with Saruman, but Aragorn is still highly antagonistic towards the Maia. Meanwhile, Bilbo is reaching the end of his life, and his friends must prepare to bid him farewell.


**These things keep growing out of control... This was originally suppose to be short and humorous... it's neither... Oh, and I indulged in a bit of fanon!Twins in the beginning. If that's not your cup of tea, it doesn't last long. **

* * *

When the Council ended, its participants dispersed, most of those from Rhovanion preparing to return over the mountains to report to their respective peoples. They would travel together for protection, and most of those from Elrond's house left with them to help prepare and provision them. Aragorn stalked off, his face set, to where none knew. Galadriel went to see messages sent to her own people, leaving only the three Maiar, Elrond, and his sons.

Olórin and Radagast were speaking to Elrond over ideas on how to recruit the Eagles and the Ents, respectively. Olórin turned to Sauron to clarify something, and found him staring absently at a section of the carved decoration above the doorway.

"Mairon," Olórin said. "Mairon? Mairon!" That finally got his attention, and he focused on his brother.

"Sorry, what?" he asked.

"What were you thinking about?" Olórin asked instead of answering.

"That you could rig something to dump a substance of your choice on anyone who walked through there very easily," Sauron replied absentmindedly, returning his gaze there.

"Very true," Elladan said.

"We've done it," Elrohir agreed.

"Of course, if you hooked it to there, and there, you could theoretically rig two buckets, for example, to drop one after another. Like honey, followed by flour or feathers," Sauron mused. The Twins straighten up, and glanced at each other.

"That...is an excellent idea," Elladan said thoughtfully, while Elrohir lost the battle with a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Must you give them ideas?" Elrond asked wearily. Olórin snorted.

"If you had seen some of the pranks he used to come up with…" he mused.

"I see why you were never caught off guard or out of sorts with my two," Elrond said, mock glaring at his sons, who pulled an affronted look.

"Our 'pranks', as you term them, are useful additions to our life," Elladan sniffed.

"And they serve a useful purpose," Elrohir added.

"Is that so?" Elrond said, an arch look on his face. "How?"

"They provide opportunities to practice and implement strategy, forces awareness to your surroundings, and develop faster reaction times," Sauron said, when it was obvious the Twins were floundering.

"That is a wonderful excuse," Elrohir said, his impressed look mirrored by his brother.

"It is, isn't it," Sauron mused, chin in his hands, looking smug. "Pity I never could use it on Aulë."

"Not that you ever had trouble coming up with excuses anyway," Olórin snorted. Sauron shrugged.

"Aulë stopped noticing virtually anything I did fairly quickly, so the only times I usually had to come up with excuses was when I got you or Eönwë–or both of you–in trouble. Then it was easy: you started it. There was a distinct advantage in being the youngest."

"You always used that little fact to your advantage–along with anything else you could exploit." Olórin said, rolling his eyes.

"Anything necessary," Sauron said with a smirk, but then the smile faded. "Anything necessary," he repeated in a whisper, eyes darkening. Olórin nudged him gently, concerned. It recalled Sauron to the present, and he smiled at his brother, but the smile was tinged with sadness, and everyone there could tell.

"My Lord Elrond?" an Elf in a healer's robes came out onto the porch, concern on his face. "It is the Perian, Bilbo Baggins. Your assistance would be most appreciated, if you have finished here."

"I am coming," Elrond replied, following the healer into the house. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged concerned looks, then along with Radagast, made their excuses, leaving the brothers alone. They wandered inside, Olórin slightly distracted with thoughts of his friend. They found a room near the Hall of Fire that was unoccupied, though a fire was lit. There they settled, Olórin on a chair, Sauron on the floor in front of the fire.

"So why was Bilbo Baggins in the caves under the Misty Mountains?" Sauron finally asked his brother, curiosity evident in his voice. Olórin smiled, remembering the Hobbit who had run out his door without his handkerchief. Bilbo's story was told, Sauron just as engrossed by it as the Hobbit-children who had been Bilbo's main audience.

"He seems like a very remarkable individual," Sauron said when the story was finished. "To give up both the Arkenstone and the Ring…He must have had a will of adamant; a wise and compassionate individual, yet remained humble and self-effacing. Not many are like that."

"No indeed," Olórin said. "Middle-earth will be poorer for his passing."

* * *

Elrond stepped from Bilbo's room. Sorrow and resignation could be seen on his face, if the observer knew what to look for.

"How is he?" a soft voice asked, and Elrond turned his gaze to meet that of his foster-son.

"He will not be with us much longer," Elrond replied quietly. Aragorn bowed his head.

"May I?" he asked, indicating Bilbo's door. Elrond nodded, and Aragorn slipped inside. Elrond moved to a window set in the corridor, looking out over his valley, thinking about mortality, and the change that was ever a part of life on these shores. He was still there when Aragorn slipped back out.

"He wants to see Gandalf," Aragorn told Elrond. "Do you know where he is?"

"Probably with his brother in one of the smaller rooms off the Hall of Fire," Elrond replied. Aragorn's face went hard. Elrond mentally sighed.

"Estel…" he began. Aragorn cut him off, a sign of how upset he was.

"Why did you let him come?" he asked. "Why do you let him stay? After all he has done."

"Yes, he has done terrible things in the past," Elrond acknowledged. "But at the moment, he is on our side. We need him, Estel. Whatever else he is, he is a remarkable strategist. He has already helped us by freeing the Three, something you have directly benefited from. And surely you can see that the image most hold of him is far too simplistic to be real? Like every other rational creature, he is a complex individual, who has reasons for what he has done. Not that he should be excused for his actions, but judgement his deeds is not ours to render."

"There is no punishment harsh enough for what he has done," Aragorn spat, turning to leave.

"Aragorn," Elrond said sternly. The man turned, still slightly rebellious, but caught by the rare use of his birth name. Elrond sighed.

"My son, I know you are grieving and angry. But Saruman is the proper target for your wrath, not Sauron, as paradoxical as that seems. Sauron has too suffered greatly at Saruman's hands."

"Yes," Aragorn muttered sullenly. "He took away all his power and toppled his empire." Elrond sighed again, this time in exasperation.

"Aragorn, Saruman used the Ring to spiritually rape Sauron," Elrond said bluntly, shocking his foster son. "I have touched his fëa…Never before have I encountered a soul in more pain. That includes those who I have not been able to save, who have sailed or faded. How he manages to continue functioning, let alone planning like he has been doing, is beyond my comprehension." Aragorn was stunned, and stared at Elrond in shock.

"But…how?" he finally asked incoherently, unable to articulate what he was trying to ask.

"He is probably the most stubborn individual I've met," Elrond said dryly.

"So he simply refuses to let it hurt him?" Aragorn asked in confusion.

"No, it hurts him deeply," Elrond said. "If you would look at him like a healer, you would see it. But what he refuses to do is quit. He also refuses to let Olórin be hurt: it was after Saruman had defeated him and treated him so horribly that he went to Orthanc to rescue his brother."

"So he's just stubborn?" Aragorn asked. Elrond sighed.

"And, I believe, he has been hurting for so long he has forgotten what it feels like to be whole," the Peredhel said quietly. "He still bears scars both physical and psychological from torment he was put to under Morgoth; he was hurt enough that Galadriel has set aside her hatred of him, and that ought to speak of how deeply that injury runs. Look at him, Aragorn, and set aside your preconceived notions of what you think exists, and you will see the same." Aragorn was silent for a time.

"And if I cannot?" he finally asked quietly. Elrond looked at him closely.

"Then at least acknowledge that his fate is not your decision," he said. "If we fail, then his fate will lie with Saruman, something horrible to contemplate. If, however, we succeed, then both Olórin and Sauron will be returning to Valinor, and his fate will be in the hands of the Valar, where it should be." Aragorn sighed.

"I will try to do as you wish me to do, Adar," he said softly. "Though I cannot promise success there. I have hated him long and long, since I first returned to my people and saw how diminished they were. It has only grown as I have watched their continued decline." He shook his head. "I will go find Gandalf: Bilbo would most likely also benefit from your presence." Elrond gave him a piercing look, then nodded and entered the Hobbit's room. Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, then went looking for the Maiar.

It did not take him long to find them, as they were Elrond had believed they were. When he relayed Bilbo's request, Olórin rose with alacrity and left for the Hobbit's rooms. Aragorn moved to place an arm on the mantle, staring into the flames.

He felt more than saw Sauron's wary regard. He knew the Maia must have picked up his animosity, and was now on the receiving end of his assessment of whether or not he was going to continue attacking Sauron. It had an almost feral feel to it that Aragorn had experienced in only a few others. But it seemed the Maia decided he wasn't a threat; or at least not a major one, for Sauron returned his gaze to the flames, crossing his arms on the raised hearth and resting his chin on them.

Freed from the Maia's gaze, Aragorn turned his own on Sauron, trying to do as his foster-father had asked and look at him as a healer would. Weariness was evident in his face and posture, but not to the point of exhaustion. Physically, he simply looked like he needed a good night's sleep. But there was something else that teased on the edge of Aragorn's healer instincts, something fragile, something delicate…

Sauron shifted slightly, and began rubbing his left hand. Aragorn's attention was caught by the stump of the first finger. It looked like it had never been properly cared for; indeed, it looked like it had never been treated at all.

"Is your finger bothering you?" Aragorn asked, trying to make himself sound as nonthreatening and compassionate as possible. Either he didn't succeed, or the shift was too much for the Maia, as Sauron just stared at him with a wary, calculating expression. Aragorn tried again.

"It just looks like it was never cared for," he explained.

"It wasn't," Sauron finally said, holding his hand up to look at it. "Isildur chopped it off–and I do mean that _literally_, I don't think he even bothered to _aim_, considering he cut halfway through my middle finger as well–and the sudden loss of power caused the fána I had at the time to fail completely. Admittedly, that was a forgone conclusion by that time, I was already mortally wounded.

"Traumatic injuries tend to imprint themselves on the psyche, and since the Ainur have such control over what form we take, we often keep the scars of wounds that weren't cared for–and even some that were. Its why I still have scars I gained in the First Age, despite the fact I've lost my physical form twice in the intervening years. And now, I'm sure I've told you more than you ever wanted to know. The short answer in all that is: no, it was never cared for, and yes, it does bother me at times." Aragorn nodded.

"I'll be right back," he said, leaving Sauron staring after him in bemusement. After a moment, the Maia shrugged, and returned to his previous thoughts, gazing at the fire again. He glanced up when Aragorn entered again, carrying a small jar of ointment.

"Here," he said, sitting beside the Maia. "This helps with the symptoms, though no one seems to know why amputated limbs will still feel sensations."

"I would guess Estë could say," Sauron said dryly, as he hesitantly placed his hand in Aragorn's grasp. The Man snorted softly.

"Probably, but none on these shores will learn it from her," he replied, as he carefully began rubbing the ointment on and around the stump of the missing forefinger, using his own innate power to soothe and heal along with it, though he had no idea if would work on a Maia.

"I see where the saying about the hands of the King comes from," Sauron finally said softly, his voice not nearly as crisp as his wont. Aragorn looked at him. His hair hung loose, falling over his far shoulder as his head was bowed. Eyes closed, he looked surprisingly young–young and vulnerable.

He was vulnerable, Aragorn realized. With most of his power and soul on Saruman's finger, he was dependent on the protection of others to keep from being enslaved by the other Maia. He had already been deeply hurt, and yet had risked being hurt again to save his brother. Elrond was right: Sauron was far more complex than many gave him credit for. Perhaps he could not disregard what the Maia had done, but if Galadriel could set aside her hatred, then so could he. Carefully, Aragorn reached out and pulled the Maia in until his head was resting on the Man's shoulder.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Aragorn told him softly. Sauron was silent for a long time.

"I learned I had to be," he finally said. "Almost every time in my existence I wasn't, someone would hurt me. Eventually, I learned to hurt back, and continued–until it became hurting someone else so that they couldn't hurt me." He sighed. "That's the whole idea behind the Ring, actually. If I could control...well, everything, then no one could control me; I would never be hurt again."

There was, Aragorn thought, something horribly ironic about that, that Sauron had been so badly hurt by what he had intended to prevent exactly that. Sauron shifted slightly, and his voice took on an odd pleading sound.

"It wasn't like I was planning to hurt everyone else, I was really going to make their lives better. There wouldn't be all the chaos that ends with everyone involved being hurt. Everyone could be happy, everything would be perfect…" He trailed off. "I guess it was just a foolish dream, in the end."

"I think it was a worthy goal, but not one that could be accomplished," Aragorn said. "If we were simply handed our heart's desires, we would soon find they meant nothing to us. We would wish for more and more, seeking to fill the emptiness within with mere things."

Sauron was silent, thinking on what Aragorn had said. They said nothing more, until Olórin came in, grief evident on his face.

"He's gone," he said softly. He sat down next to Sauron, pulling him into his arms.

"He's in a better place now," Aragorn said gently. "He's with Frodo again, Frodo and the rest of his family who have left the bounds of Arda."

"You'll see him again someday," Sauron said certainly. "None know what Ilúvatar's plan is concerning them, but surely you would not come to love them so if there was no reunion in the future." Olórin said nothing, but the grief in his eyes eased slightly. They sat in silence, staring into the fire, as Radagast, Elrond, and Galadriel all slowly drifted into the room, gathering in mutual support and grief. They had lost much, and would lose more before this war was over, but tonight they were together, and while that did not completely assuage the pain, it made it easier to bear.

"Olórin?" Sauron asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "Assuming everything goes as we wish…what are we going to do with Curumo?" Olórin looked at him sharply.

"I assumed we'd be taking him back to Valinor," he said. "What were you thinking?"

"I'm…conflicted," Sauron admitted. "He's so focused on what he wants now, that if we were to destroy the fána he wears now, he would be unlikely to recover. A very large part of me feels that's very fair… and another part thinks of you, and of me, and feels that we should take him back to Valinor, for it would be what I would wish another to do if it were us in that situation, but I don't _like_ either of them, and don't see how I owe them anything, but _still_…"

"Nyeleccaner?" Olórin cut off his little brother's semi-confusing rant. Sauron nodded.

"Who is Nyeleccaner?" Elrond asked.

"Aulë's chief Maia," Galadriel answered him.

"And Curumo's older brother," Olórin added.

"They have two younger brothers, as well," Radagast further added. Aragorn looked surprised.

"I never thought about Maiarin families," Aragorn said. "I knew about the familial relationships between the Valar, but other than Eönwë and Ilmarë being siblings, as well as Ossë and Uinen being espoused, and of course the two of you, but other than that, I know of no lore of such relationships."

"Probably because they tend to get complicated," Olórin said dryly. "Generally a Maia will have two to four siblings, and a good many are espoused, creating even larger familial networks. On top of that, those Maiar who all serve the same Vala often consider themselves family as well. Possibly the least tangled are Eönwë and Ilmarë: neither are wed, and the only Maiar I know who have only one other sibling."

"Well, there's the two of you…" Radagast said. "No, wait, you have a little sister, don't you?" Aragorn was surprised at the identical, fond, nostalgic smiles that appeared on Olórin and Sauron's faces.

"Yes, Indil," Sauron replied. "We are the only family I know of that split when Eä was formed, but she was so young…she's younger than I am, obviously, and I'm already the fourth youngest here in Eä. She was too young, and she knew it, and stayed in the Timeless Halls…" he sighed, leaning against Olórin. "Seeing now how everything has played out, it would have been better if I had listened to you, Olórin. We should have never left."

"For what it's worth, Mairon, other than losing you, I have no regrets," Olórin said softly. Sauron gave him a wry smile, but true amusement lurked behind part of it.

"I was also speaking on my own account," he admitted. He shook his head. "I truly was too young. Too young to see behind the lies and flattery to the Darkness…oh, why am I trying to lie to myself? I could see what lay hidden. I simply ignored it, for I wanted so desperately for what he was saying to be true."

"You're not the only one who has done that, Mairon," Olórin said gently. "You should know that…Valar know you've used that often enough yourself." Sauron smiled humorlessly.

"Where do you think I learned it?" he asked. "The Deceiver was once expertly deceived," he added in a mutter so soft Olórin wasn't sure anyone else had heard it. "And by the time I was forced to realize the lies were just that, I couldn't find a way back that wouldn't have horrific consequences for me and everyone I loved."

"And you still believe that the Valar would not show you mercy?" Olórin asked, exasperated. "Even with all that?"

"In the end, Olórin, I made the choice," Sauron replied, meeting his brothers eyes. "I made the choice to give in to Melkor, and betray everything I had once held dear. Maybe I was pressured into it, yes, but that does not change the fact that in the end, I had the choice…Perhaps they would have shown mercy once, but now? After all that I have done?" He shook his head. "There is no salvation for me."

Olórin didn't know how to answer that.


End file.
